A Matter of Time
by meahay
Summary: He, Prince of Lies, will make a promise to return. And she, the simple mortal, will be the one to test it. LokixOc MATURE CONTENT
1. Chapter 1

So um give this a try. I've read a lot of Loki fan fictions so hopefully this one will interest someone.

Marvel respectfully owns their characters, I own mine.

This prose is rated M for language, sex, drinking and all that other good stuff.

-0-0-0-

In what seemed like and eternity the cosmos that swallowed him threw him back up. Into the inky blackness between realms, between what does exist and what does not. And in that eternity his mind was no more at peace than it was when he let go of the royal spear. The events that had just happened flashed again and again through his mind with an ethereal clarity. Daring them with their trials and tribulations, the faults he had discovered, the truths uncovered. And the raw aching feeling that ate at his chest threatened to eat him from the inside out.

'_No Loki.'_

Such words were so small, so insignificant, and yet when uttered by the very man he'd considered his father his entire life; they seemed like daggers covered in poison sent to ream his heart from his chest. To destroy everything he had once thought to be true, to eradicate the world he had lived in for thousands of mortal years.

And in the blackness of space, where time stopped and agony flourished, Loki was sure all was lost. Lost like him forever entombed in darkness and solitude.

Hatred blossomed.

Not only for the man who called himself a father, but also for the fool that considered himself a brother. The hatred there was thick and deep and sunk deep into him like a putrid swamp. He drowned in the guilt-ridden water, his lungs burning and his eyes bulging from his sallow skull. No light could reach his deep and decaying tomb.

But all around him there was nothing.

Midgard.

_Earth_.

While he festered in the deep sluggish waters of the swamp he thought on the measly planet with its imprudent and ignorant inhabitants. They were the reason his brother had turned from him. The reason for all of this. All of the detestation, the shame, _everything_.

It was to blame for the darkness that was swallowing him. A green flame broke through the darkness and erupted like the silent roar that came from his mouth. They would pay. They would all pay, each and every one of them.

He would be the one to make them pay.

Yet as he plummeted down through the nothingness his noiseless cries did not echo and his hatred did nothing to make it waver. Instead it became an internal sea in which the raw emotion of betrayal was rooted firmly in swirling waters. The darkness that enveloped him was as boundless as his hatred of all that was his past.

He was so immersed that he barely realized he was breaking through reality, breaking through atmospheres, breaking into the gravity that had pulled him thus far.

And then truly all went black.

-0-0-0-

Tyne Rodgers lived in a farmhouse amid the vast wheat fields of the Midwest. Originally from the eastern seaboard she had moved with her older sister and her fiancé when her father passed. She enjoyed the peaceful and quiet life the farm life provided, but she enjoyed her time in the city more. Of the money her father left her she had decided to put it to use at college in New York City. She spent her fall, winter, and spring there immersed in the only thing that ever had made sense to her. Art.

She was an average girl, a bit more on the curvy side borderline doughy even. Her shape was not enhanced any by the head-full of wavy dirty blonde hair that seemed to explode out in all directions from her round soft face and framed her cool hazel eyes. Her height was a meager five foot two and she preferred cool colors to warm when it came to clothing.

Nothing stood out in particular about her, other than her chest size, which sometimes drew the attention of a particular few, otherwise she was just another girl living with her elder sister and going to art school. She was shy when first meeting people and grew more expressive as she warmed to someone.

Art however, was her world and it helped that she was good at it.

'_Damn good'_ as her sister would put it when she talked about her younger sister at work parties.

She had been accepted right away at college and put to work, pressing the talent to new heights and expression. Under the pressure Tyne flourished, her skill grew as well as her acclaim.

Enough that she was able to quit her summer job at the service station three miles from her home in the wheat fields and support herself mostly on commissioned pieces.

Portraits of families, older folks, pets, she painted whatever was needed of her. But people were her favorite and always had been.

But painting wasn't as simple as it looked. Of the farmhouse, Margret her sister, had given her almost full custody of the spacious attic for her studio and living space. However studio was it's first function, a place to sleep was second. Instead of sleeping with the handsome farm boys from the area, brushes, pencils, and erasers frequented her bed.

It was a hot day in June, she was working on the finishing touches of the local mayors face when the heat and the constant hours of work got to her. She put her brushes down and scooted off of her old barstool, bare feet coming in contact with the old area rug she had found in a corner of the room when they'd moved in. it was now splattered with paint here and there, corroding the soft plush with hard tacky spots.

Sweat dripped down the back of her neck as she rubbed her sweaty palms against her battered cargo painting pants. The crease between her breasts was damp and itchy and she desperately wanted to cool off with a jump in a swimming pool.

A walk through the fields, however, would have to suffice.

Her sister and brother-in-law were at work as she padded down the old staircase, leaving her alone in the timeworn house. The old white paint on the stairs was gone with wear where thousands of footsteps had been and the aged oak beneath shown through. Exiting out the old 50s style kitchen and into the small backyard she let the screen door smack loudly as she traversed into the grass.

At first she headed for the lone oak tree that stood alone amid the vast flatness of the fields. It's large shadow cool and refreshing, and the breeze moving through the drying wheat felt good as it soothed the sweat that had blossomed on her skin.

She had two days to complete the painting and she was making relatively good time on this one. Nothing compared to old Mrs. Johnson's painting of her poodle Reginald. That had been a disaster. _'A fucking disaster.'_

Plopping down to rest against the great rough face of the tree she let her eyes flutter closed for just a moment. A few birds sung on the power lines and in the distance the drone of a plane heading out to spray the fields could be heard. The wind picked up stray pieces of her hair and dangled them about her face, tickling the soft cream skin that was just ever so brushed with freckles.

Then suddenly the wind shifted and blew in from another direction with a new strength. Ty's eyes opened, puzzled at the sudden shift and her eyes immediately flew to the darkening sky barely a fourth of a mile from her very position.

It was as if a flash storm was erupting before her very eyes, a rare occurrence but one that did happen. But this was different, there was no thunder, no lightening, just the swirling of dark thick billowing clouds that converged to one point.

Standing up to get a better view the clouds suddenly broke open and looked like they began to drop rain.

'_Rain isn't chunky,'_ she thought as a slice of fear slid down her spine. _'Is it a twister?'_

One particularly large mass fell and landed amongst the golden ground, with that the clouds then suddenly began to fade. Within a minute the sky was cloudless and perfect again.

Tyne's feet began moving before her brain had time to keep up. The sky had just vomited something out and she had to see what it was. Rationally be forgotten, curiosity had the reigns.

-0-0-0-

Loki felt like the one egg that had rolled too far off of the baker's counter and had fallen to it's demise on the kitchen floor. His insides felt like they were oozing out of him from every pore of his skin. He did not feel the pain initially; it came secondly to the siphoning of his control. It took him only moments to realize that it was not his insides or even his blood that was seeping out of him and into the hard ground he had fallen onto, it was his magic.

His hands clutched fruitlessly at his sides as the pull of the earth sucked almost every last ounce of his magic from him. Attempting to open his eyes brought on the first recognition of pain, the light searing at his dilated pupils that had been so accustomed to darkness.

A garbled cry escaped his lips, and blood he hadn't realized was there coated his tongue. The sound of his own heartbeat in his ears brought him back to the present. He tried to pull a hand up shield his sore eyes but the muscles protested so much that he had no choice but to lie in pain and let the planet he loathed so much steal from him.

With the metallic taste of blood in his mouth slowly he opened his eyes to the world he detested so much. His vision was hazy, swimming on the edges at first, as if he were looking down a great tunnel. However it began to clear and he was finally able to take in what was around him.

A great blue sky rippled above him, not a cloud could be seen, so boundless and huge it was that for a moment even he, a prince of Asgard, felt small. Then, as his field of vision widened, the stalks and bent heads of golden wheat frolicked overtop of him. Their swaying forms like dancers, moving in and out to the whistling of the wind, which was the only sound other than a few stray crickets that he heard.

For the moment, bound to the ground, helpless and in an agony no words could describe, Loki was a peace. The world was so simple, the blue sky, the golden wheat, and the warm sun that touched him like a lover's hand. His eyes began to flutter closed when a shadow appeared above him, and his simple world suddenly grew.

It was first a great dark shape that interrupted the tranquility of the sky above him, yet as his weary eyes concentrated the figure of a woman appeared. She gingerly pushed the stalks of wheat away as she tentatively came closer. His vision was too hazy to pick out facial features, but he could tell by shape she was female.

Hesitant, like a deer in a billowing meadow she crept ever closer, as if frightened that he would suddenly leap up, not that he could, but he decided she was smart to be cautious.

As she neared her face became clearer, haloed by the sun the abundant curly locks that framed her face glowed faintly and her hazel eyes flashed. Crouching down to his side she slowly reached out with a small slender hand and pressed it down against the cool metal of his armor.

There her hand brushed over the details of his lapel and the plates of his armor, over the gold and the black until at last her soft fingertips touched his neck. They were warm, astoundingly so, he hadn't realized until then that his entire body felt like ice.

Working their way up with feather light touches Tyne touched his cheek, right below a seeping cut. His skin was icy cold compared to the humidity and heat_, 'that's because he just fell out of space,' _she thought to herself.

His eyes were amazing.

They watched her every move but didn't appear to actually see her, there was no emotion that played at his face, be it pain, confusion, or fear. He was a marble pillar with eyes of emeralds that bore so deep into her she could hardly look at them.

"Are you…alright?" came her soft voice, barely louder than the whistle of the wind in the grass.

'_Why does this mortal care?'_ he thought to himself, _'and how does she approach so nonchalantly?'_

As he stared up into her face the pain of the drainage began to abate and much more physical pains took its place. It was as if he had been dragged behind a horse for miles, his body pulled and torn, rugged and haggard.

He provided her with no answer and she grew concerned at the bubbling of blood at his lips. The shock of having some strange man fall from space was slowly departing and instead she found herself looking up into the heavens. _'Where did he come from?'_

Staring back down at him she quickly assessed him; his clothing was…different to say the least. He wore armor of steel and leather, thick tailored jacket with golden stitching and to top it all off patent leather boots. Whoever he was, he was important.

"Here, I'll help you sit up," she said and maneuvered herself to his side, falling to her knees and gently clutching his shoulders. Tyne was unsure if she could pull him into an upright position without his help, he appeared to be close to six foot, not something her strength could handle without a struggle.

But she tried non-the-less.

Loki's vision swam as he was hoisted from his prone status, his mouth opened and he heaved thick wet breaths as he fought the blood in his throat for air, flecks of red spotting his attire. The mortal had moved slightly behind him, her hands firmly placed on his shoulders, holding him upright as he wheezed and hacked.

'_What is this foolish girl doing?'_

Sluggishly he turned his head back to look at her, to gaze once more into her hazel eyes. What he found there was more than he had bargained for.

"Are you breathing okay?" she asked in a breathy manor. As he turned and looked at her the only thing her brain could come up with was; _'Damn is he handsome.'_ Dark, dark hair and green, green eyes on smooth pale skin, which had probably seen better days now that it was smeared with blood and had a few blooming bruises. But all in all, he rivaled Adonis in her eyes.

This mortal stared back at him unabashed, he, a prince of Asgard. Surely even on such a primitive planet as Midgard common people had the sense to not stare at royalty. Yet here she was gazing at him as if he were some alien form that had crashed to her planet.

'_Oh wait…'_

"Mid…Midgard..?" he managed through the rawness of his throat.

Her eyebrows knitted in confusion as she tried to decipher the word he had just uttered to her. It had made no sense to her and instead she focused more on the blood that was staining his lips.

"Earth," she supplied, "This is Earth…well part of it."

Blinking slowly and raising a shaking hand to his throbbing skull he nodded_. 'Yes, Earth, that is what they call it.'_ It felt as though his head would split in two, and ream his spine from his body at the rate his body was protesting. His vision swam and his injuries burned for he had no magic to heal them.

"Where are you from?" she asked, her breath warm against his skin. Until now he hadn't truly realized the proximity he held with the mortal. She was pressed up against his side keeping him upright as his body refused to react.

His glazed eyes stared blankly into hers for a moment more.

"Asgard."

-0-0-0-

Review if you please.


	2. Chapter 2 The Little Blue Room

Here goes chapter 2!

A big thanks to those of you who reviewed, added the story to your alerts and favorites. It means a lot to me.

All recognizable characters belong to Marvel and it's affiliates.

Chapter Two: The Little Blue Room

-0-0-0-

Tyne stared quite puzzled at the…thing before her. She sat upon her bed and had placed it precariously on her stool to examine it from afar. In the dim light of the setting sun it glowed with a ruddy fire and glinted magically and she could make out her reflection quite well on its livid surface.

She had found this thing only feet from her new housemate and since he hadn't woken up she wasn't quite sure what it was.

It looked like a helmet, a giant gold one with ridiculously large curved horns coming off of it. It was a strange thing, and as she chewed her lip in perplexity her hands itched.

She wanted to paint it badly.

The way the light hit it and the shine it produced as well as the deepness the gold provided was simply teasing her. She could already see it in her mind; the whole still life came to her as she studied the bizarre object.

But she wasn't quite sure what it was and so she had made a resolution to wait until her spaceman woke up.

"Hey Ty, looks like your alien visitor is waking up!" shouted Margret up the stairs, successfully knocking Tyne out of her stupor. Leaping off of her bed she gingerly picked up the heavy metal object and holding it like a poisonous snake far from her she descended the stairs to the small living room.

Marge met her at the bottom of the stairs with her hands on her hips, a dissatisfied look on her face. However her look didn't linger on her younger sister for long, it flitted over to her fiancé who was looking quite apprehensive as he sat in his recliner. He fingered the grip of his old college baseball bat, staring at the large dark figure that had taken up residence on his couch.

Tyne slipped past her sister, still holding the golden object and tipped toed up to the stranger's side. Peering down at him her brows furrowed as she watched his expression shift before one lone green eye looked up at her, a layer of blood soaked gauze covered the other.

Giving him a small smile Tyne shifted the mass in her arms and tucked a curl behind her ear as she studied him. "Hello there."

Behind her, her sister rolled her eyes and shook her head.

The man in the strange armor stared up at her perplexed, his gaze searching her face and then suddenly came to glare at the golden item in her arms. Finding his balance he swung his legs over the edge of the cushion and in a rush the only other male in the room was upon him. He pressed a firm hand into his shoulder in an attempt to push him back away from the curly haired woman. One lone green eye bore into his with a venomous glare that could melt glass.

"Unhand me mortal," snarled the stranger and the man backed off quickly.

Moving his gaze to the woman before him he thought better than to try to stand. His vision was swimming still and it was a miracle he could even sit up, his armor was heavy and digging into him uncomfortably.

'_Typical mortals, they patch up wounds but can't figure out how to take simple armor off.'_

"Why don't you take it easy there buddy, from what we've heard you've had quite a trip," said the man. Something in his voice irked Loki even more than the man's blatant move to touch him.

He watched as the blonde woman sent the man a look of pure displeasure, he recognized her as the one who had appeared in the wheat field. Now that his vision was clearing he was able to truly get a good look at her.

Just as before her head of full locks tumbled down her shoulders and back and they framed a soft round face flicked her and there with freckles, she had a full bottom lip and round livid eyes that were currently looking quite upset.

The rest of her mimicked her face, all softness and curves, something that was rarely ever seen on Asgard. And then there was the object in her hands.

"My helmet wench," he commanded of her, well he attempted but his voice was rough with disuse. He had bitten his cheek somewhere along his fall and it hurt and bled whenever he tried to speak. He reached up with an open palm to claim it and instead a blur of brown clouded his field of vision.

**SMACK**

"How dare you speak that way to my sister you weirdo! After all she's done for you! I would have left your ass in that wheat field!" screeched Margret as she stood over the toppled over man who had fallen to his knees on the floor beside the small couch. She had used her legendary right and his head was spinning and his cheek had begun bleeding again.

He was bewildered. A _mortal_, strike _him_?

"Oh my god Marge!" gasped the blonde.

But before he could unleash his silver tongue upon the woman towering over him the other was kneeling on the floor beside him dabbing the bead of blood that had escaped his lips. Despite her attempts of kindness his fury was not yet abated and he pushed her hand away from him.

Rising slowly up onto his feet he towered over the snarling woman. Her hazel eyes bored into his without flinching and he had to admire her ability to stand up to him.

'_Despite how foolish.'_

"How dare you, a mere mortal strike out against an Asgardian Prince, are you so daft in the head not to know your place woman?" he growled at her, flecks of blood spotting his otherwise dazzling white teeth. Electricity seemed to be cracking in the air between them.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" snapped the woman as she gave him a sharp poke to his breastplate, "My sister _dragged_ your sorry ass the _whole_ way back here, patched you up, I even let you sleep on _my_ couch and you have the _audacity_ to _shout_ at _me_?"

Loki was about to pop a blood vessel whenever the shorter blonde woman interjected, pushing the two apart; she gave her sister a vehement look before turning to him. His anger mixed with humor at the look of irritation she aimed his direction.

"Cool it!" she commanded and he couldn't help but smirk down at her for her attempt, cold was what he was about. "You have to rest, I don't know what happened to you but you don't look good. Sit down."

Loki opened his mouth to protest but her palms had already found themselves on his chest and he was weary enough that just a gentle shove had him toppling back into the cushions with a strangled cry of pain.

The brown haired woman shook her head and left the room, followed tentatively by the man who still clutched in his hands some sort of wooden club.

"We'll be on the back porch, just holler if you need us," he said, his gaze traveling between the injured stranger and his sister-in-law.

"I'll be fine Sam," said the blonde as she put her hands on her hips haughtily, "Not much he can do, trust me."

Shrugging Sam left the bat by the doorway and followed Margret outside, the screen door slamming shut. Letting out a deep sigh Ty turned to assess her newest patient.

"What in the nine realms have you done to me girl?" snapped Loki as he fought with the gauze that covered his left eye. One of Tyne's eyebrows shot up into her hairline before she proceeded to laugh.

Peeved by her sudden find of his floundering comical he shot her a glare worthy of a prince.

"My name is Tyne, not girl, not woman, not wench, got it?" she commented slyly as she sat down next to him on the couch, forcing him to scoot away from her.

"I don't care who you are, get these bandages off of me," he growled.

"No."

"_Excuse me?"_

The girl gave him a small rueful smile, "No, you'll start bleeding again if I do that."

'_Enough of this foolishness!'_ he thought vehemently to himself, twitching his fingers he made to summon one of his magical daggers to frighten her with.

Loki stared down in disbelief at his palm, a spark popped from it.

That was it.

His eyes returned to her face where she sat waiting patiently for his retort, the calm placid look irritated him even more than the fact she was sitting so close to him.

"You know not whom you are dealing with mortal," Loki hissed, his one lone green eye staring deeply into her hazel ones.

"Then why don't you inform me?"

Puffing his chest up as much as he could, which turned out was quite painful he addressed her.

"I am Prince of Asgard Loki Odi-"

His voice died in his throat as he struggled to finish, Tyne watched as so many emotions flickered over his face all at once. Her smile fell as pain washed over his features and he stared past her to the golden helmet she had dropped when her sister had struck him.

'_I am no longer who I once was,'_ he thought, the thought disgusting him. Somehow the gold of his helmet seemed tarnished, sullied by his sins.

"Loki who?" came the soft voice of the woman to his left drawing back from his dark and dangerous thoughts.

"It matters not," he replied curtly turning his green eyes to her he addressed her once more, "There are much more pressing matters at hand, what spell-craft have you wrought over this land to steal from me my magic?"

Tyne stared blankly at him for a few moments.

And then burst out laughing.

She laughed hard enough that she wrapped her arms around her waist and almost toppled forward. Befuddled, Loki watched as the girl laughed herself into a fit that caused not only her hair to bounce but her breasts as well. Rubbing her eyes, her face flushed in her amusement of his words she cleared her throat and turned her mirth-filled eyes to his.

"I'm sorry but you have to be kidding me, first you say your name is Loki and then that your magic has been stolen from you? I mean yeah you fell from space but…_damn_!"

In a flash he had the girl pinned up against the back of her sofa, one slender hand wrapped around her throat and his eyes glinting in a dangerous way. The mirth died quickly from her eyes and she became very quite as his metal armor crushed her beneath him.

"I will not have you insulting me with your laughter mortal. I ask of you this and you will answer me, _what have you done_?"

At first fear ran down Tyne's spine, and she regretted bringing this stranger, _'Loki'_ into her home. Quickly, however, she studied the situation she instead brought up one finger and poked it into a bandage by his elbow.

Instantly the hand retreated from her throat and her guest was hissing in pain.

"Yeah, yeah, you're all high and mighty till someone pokes your boo-boo," she mocked with a dispassionate look. She smoothly removed herself from his side and picked up the golden helmet by its large curled appendages. "So _this_ is a _helmet_."

Loki was unsure what was worse; the pain of the wound on his elbow or the fact a mere mortal had bested him, a woman to boot. He glared at her as she moved his helmet in her hands.

"Of course it is," he hissed, "what else would it be?"

"I don't know, a satellite dish?" she commented drily, holding it out to him, "Put it on."

Loki could not believe his ears; here she was commanding him again as if he were nothing more than a little slave boy. "Absolutely not."

"Yeah I guess you'd hurt the boo-boo over your eye wouldn't cha?" she teased again.

"Infernal woman, once my powers have returned you will not be too hasty to mock me," he threatened as he wobbled to his feet.

Tyne looked on at him amused and plunked the helmet down on her own head her hair poofing out at the sides ludicrously, "And when do you suppose that's gonna happen Loki?"

Loki opened his mouth to respond but then found that he had not an answer for the mortal. He instead stared down at his hands in disbelief, magic-less, powerless, weak.

'_For Odin's sake almost mortal!'_

Suddenly the situation changed drastically. He was stranded here on Midgard, Earth, without powers, without a plan, without anything. Anything other than the irritating woman wearing his helmet whom was standing before him, her flimsy house, and her harpy of an older sister.

He pinched the skin between his eyes in mental agony. He had no other choice; he sucked in a deep breath and swallowed his pride…for the time being.

"Forgive me milady, but you find me at a distinct disadvantage. I am without a home, or any means to return to mine, pardon my…incivility."

The woman then removed his helmet and ran a hand through her thick hair and her hazel eyes came up to meet his and he found himself very intrigued about what he saw there.

"Hey it's cool, I mean I can't really believe all of this right away, but the stakes are in your favor," she said simply and shrugged her small shoulders.

"Excuse me?" he said baffled. She gave a petite laugh.

"Let me show you your room kay?"

-0-0-0-

The room was a modest blue, with one window facing westward out over acre and acre of farmland and had an old iron bedframe with a soft plush quilt on top. He noted dully that a thin layer of dust covered most of the objects in the room. He sat awkwardly on the bed staring at the old wooden floorboards.

The stairs going up had been agony. It seemed as though every muscle in his body was protesting him moving. And the blasted mortal kept _touching_ him.

The entire way up the stairs she had placed her hands on his back to keep him steady. The fact he was obeying her in the first place astounded him, but to be frank he hurt too much to care about her rightful place in the pecking order.

His green eyes flicked over to her as she busied herself preparing the room in some fashion. Overlapping the pain there was curiosity, curiosity surrounding the particular human that had suddenly welcomed him into her home.

Her hazel eyes met his and then quickly darted to his shoulder and then moved down along the armor that lay with it. "Why don't we get you out of that stuff, it can't be too comfortable."

Somewhere along his fall, most likely the crash, the left side had crumpled in and pinched awkwardly at his ribs, of which he was sure a few, were either broken or bruised. He said nothing to the girl as he stiffly clutched at the hidden buckles and straps. Her small hands brushed over his as they searched clumsily as she knelt beside him. He was about to comment about his personal space when her breast pressed up against his thigh, the feeling was so soft compared to the pain that was currently bracing his entire body that he couldn't muster a sound.

"Hold on you need to get this coat-thing off first," she said as she rose and clutched at the lapels, "Can you…like stand up?"

Grunting he swayed before firmly planting his feet and allowing her to help him shrug off the thick armored material. She carried it off to a nearby vanity and draped it over a chair and turned back to him finishing off the last buckle.

Quickly Tyne leapt forward and attempted to catch the large breastplate, underestimating how heavy the armor was. It fell clumsily between her arms and crashed to the old wooden floor, denting the old wood and sounding off like an old cannon.

"Are you okay Tyne!" shouted her sister up the stairs.

"I'm fine!" shouted the girl back as she stared in awe at the armor on the floor and then back up to the man it had come from. "That's…heavy."

"What did you expect? I am a god," he said breathily and clutched at his left set of ribs. With a less than graceful shuffle of limbs the god fell back into a seated position on the bed. Pulling his hand away it was stained with red and his eyes flickered from it to the girl who was still staring.

"Enough with your gawking girl, fetch me a bandage!" he commanded, anxious, he had not realized he had been bleeding. The dark fabric was slowly sticking to his side, he must have been punctured and when the armor removed the wound was allowed to bleed.

Scrabbling Tyne raced from the room to the small bathroom beside it, rooting around in drawers before she came up with more gauze, rubbing alcohol, and butterfly stitches. She damped a clump of paper towels and grabbed the whole roll for good measure. Rushing back into the room she stopped dead in the doorway, her mouth open to speak but not a word would come.

'_Oh. My. God.'_

How he had managed to remove his shirt was a mystery, but what met her eyes was not entirely an unpleasant view. His skin was smooth like ivory and toned muscle rippled beneath it like a caged beast waiting to be let free. Other than the large bruise that was turning a nasty black and the puncture it surrounded he was in every way, very much a god.

Shaking her head of the naughty thoughts that had suddenly bloomed she rushed to his side. A pained expression painted his handsome face and sweat had blossomed on his forehead and had begun to glisten on his arms and chest.

"Move your hand away," she said softly _'I didn't realize he was bleeding!'_

He did with another grunt and she quickly pressed a wad of damp cloth to the wound, a low whistle of agony passed the lips of the god. Pulling it away she as able to see how large the wound actually was. Luckily it wasn't too large or deep, just painful. Dabbing at the wound to clean it she doused a towel with rubbing alcohol and brushed over the laceration.

"Damn it girl!" cursed Loki as he gripped the bed with a devastating grip.

"I know, and my name is Tyne. Let me just put some butterflies on it and I'll wrap it up," replied Tyne, half aware of the power in his lean hands.

Loki didn't really care at the moment what her name was and wasn't sure what she meant by butterflies but he watched carefully as she peeled the small adhesive strips and closed the wound with them. Taking a steady breath he closed his eyes and allowed her to begin to wrap bandages around him. _'Tyne…'_

Tyne was trying not to touch him _too_ much, but his skin was so suave and his muscles reminded her of the Greek statues of Apollo. Temptation was simply too hard to fight.

'_He's a god?'_ she thought to herself, sure he fell from the sky, had a giant gold helmet and had three hundred pound armor, but a god?

Pulling away from her handiwork she watched as he ran a hand back through his raven-black locks and let out a long strangled sigh. Intense green eyes flashed and met her hazel ones, sending chills down her spine and a prickling at the back of her neck. She broke the gaze as she turned her attention to the breastplate forgotten on the bedroom floor. The heat of his gaze still lingered on her and for the first time since she had drug him home did she feel flustered at his presence.

"What do you want me to do with that?" she asked and pointed to it.

"Leave it, you cannot lift it by yourself mortal."

"My name is Tyne, I told you already, twice," a spark of defiance flickered through her eyes and caught on the end of her words. Her embarrassment that he had picked up on only moments before pushed aside.

Loki managed a scoff; laughter was almost entirely out of the question in his current condition. Who did this mortal think that she was to warrant his attention at her name, however bizarre it was. He watched her cross her arms over her round chest and give him a scowl.

"What's your problem?" she spat.

"I have no quarrel with you girl, simply know your place," he instructed.

"My place?" quipped Tyne with an arched brow, "And where would that be _your highness_?"

His emerald eyes flashed as he began to loose his humor, "_Kneeling_ at my _feet_."

The mortal then rolled her eyes.

'_How dare she-'_

"Well you know what, when you get hungry you can come kneel at my feet and we'll see then who gets fed," and with that Tyne closed the door loudly behind her as she left. However, the walls were quite thin and he could hear her open a door not three feet from his and close it too as she entered it.

'_Foolish mortal, I need not any mortal food to sustain me. How stupid,'_ he thought to himself as he stiffly rolled onto his back, placing his head into the downy pillow provided for him.

Soon after that he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

-0-0-0-

Two days later, two _excruciating_ days later, Loki was awake in the dead of night. The room was dark save for the sparse moonlight that filtered through the wooden blinds on the window. He had found that the mortals of the house were tolerable when he did not command them to do things for him, and the youngest was to be the most pleasurable when it came to conversation. Mostly because she seemed to be the only one who remotely believed any of his story. The elder female being quite hostile and the man…well in Loki's mind he was not much of a man for the way he submitted so easily to the women of the home.

Speaking of the women of the house…

An _infernal_ scratching had been keeping up the God of Mischief for the last two hours. Since being drained of his magic he had become quite reliant on sleep and mortal sustenance and got quite cranky if he were denied either. He had laid in the darkness trying to deduce what the source was for those same two hours, and a variety of thoughts and solutions had come to mind but none of which truly fit the profile of the abhorrent noise.

Finally deducing that it came from the room adjacent to his he tore off his bedding, moving tautly to his feet he struggled to the door. Luckily for him the clothing they had provided was quite comfortable if not quite as regal as he had become accustomed to. Pulling up the cotton trousers that had once more tried to slide down his slim hips he opened the door and shuffled up to the other door. Light shone from under the old oak door, skimming the edges of his toes as he moved closer

Yes, the noise was most defiantly coming from here. It had become clearer since moving closer, grasping the old brass knob he gave it a good twist and opened the door slowly.

Since coming to live at the Rodger's home he had not once gotten a look inside of the youngest room, not that he had seen the couple's room either it was more of the fact that his was across from hers and he had the most interaction with her. Now seeing it for the first time he realized why she was so often hidden deep within its confines.

It was a long rectangular room that clearly held two functions, work and sleep.

The resident in question was leaning over a great pad of paper with a long apparatus in her hand and some sort of contraption on her head. Caring not much for geniality (or privacy) he strode into the room and snatched the pencil from her fingertips.

Obviously she had not heard the door open for she all but leapt from her skin as he appeared before her. Yanking the device from her ears she glared at him with a heated passion.

"_What_ the _hell_ do _you_ think you're _doing_?" she hissed making to lunge for the pencil and missing as he jerked it away from her.

"You have been doing nothing but making a racket since we have laid down for bed. Enough of it!" he growled back.

"I was _drawing_! How the _hell_ was that noisy?"

Holding the small cylinder before him, "This…_thing_ scratches against your parchment and is quite infuriating!"

Tyne smacked herself in the face in total exasperation; Loki stared at her quite perplexed. "Why do you hit yourself?"

"_Oh my god,"_ she muttered darkly, "Just give me back my pencil."

"No."

"Loki stop it and give it to me," she said with a note of finality and outstretched her palm to receive it.

Something else he'd discovered in the last two days was that the reactions of the youngest woman were by far the most amusing of the bunch. It almost seemed that her hair would spark with electricity and grow larger the angrier she became. That and her soft features became quite exaggerated whenever she was peeved, which despite his ever lingering pain in his chest, he chuckled at.

Giving her an obnoxiously sly look he pressed his thumb to the middle of the pencil and with a swift jab broke the wooden utensil in two, catching the broken part in his other hand he dropped both pieces into her palm.

"Here you go your _majesty_, I have returned your flimsy human _stick_," he said with a flamboyant air and turned to stomp out of the room. Yet as he turned away from her he felt two distinct taps against his rear and the clattering of wood on the floor resounded in the silence. Neither moved for a moment, the tension in the air becoming thick.

He turned slowly, rage filling his eyes as he did and met the smug face of the girl.

"_Fuck you."_

He was fully ready to reprimand her for her outlandish behavior, as he had done many times since taking up residence in her abode. But now, he stared in awe at the vulgarity that spewed from her soft pink lips.

"Where in the _nine realms_ did you _learn_ such atrocities? Such words are not befitting of such a maiden, and you are by no means a warrior of Valhalla conversing of past deeds around a flagon of mead!" he spat outraged.

"Oh I'm a maiden now am I?" replied Tyne as she crossed her arms over her chest and perked up an eyebrow in skepticism.

Pinching the skin between his eyes he scowled at her, never before had someone been so quick-lipped back to him. He was the Silver-Tongued Prince for Valhalla's sake! And she was some sort of foolish mortal woman who was stupid enough to invite him into her home. This _shouldn't_ be _happening_.

"Well obviously, it's quite clear you've never been with a _real_ man!" he chided back.

"Oh really?" she questioned.

"Yes!" he spat back.

"Is it true you fuck horses?" her hazel eyes narrowed as the dagger-like inquiry pierced him.

There was that word again…

"That is-! You know nothing! I will not explain myself to a mere foolish mortal!" he growled back, his green eyes livid and his breathing accelerating.

At the other side of the room Tyne merely smiled and pulled out another pencil from a black box that was pressed against her thigh and went back to scratching at her sketchbook. Her victory was _sweet_.

In his rage his eyes scanned her room searching for some sort of redouble to her sly remarks. However instead of finding ammunition his attention waned and refocused elsewhere. Paintings, finished and just started littered the room; they were of everything from simple glass bottles to portraits of people and animals. His feet moved him closer to them and to the one at the center of the chaos that was perched half worked on upon a great wooden structure with lights focused on it.

The smell of oil permeated his nose and he gazed down at the clumps of greasy colors on a small table besides the painting.

By this time Tyne had realized Loki hadn't just stormed out of her room like she had anticipated and instead had gotten enveloped in her mess of a studio. And currently was just about to stick his finger into her cadmium crimson paint.

"Hey! No! Don't!"

It was too late.

Loki stared at his now red fingertip and as he rubbed his digits together the red smooth paint coated his hand, the smell was unusual but not entirely disgusting. Turning his gaze to the woman who was quickly making her way over to him he looked at her questioning.

"What is this?"

She only grunted and grabbed at a paint spattered cloth and began furiously rubbing his hand clean. Pursing her lips she stared at the pink stain that still remained. Ignoring him completely she grabbed a glass jar with some sort of clear-ish fluid in it and opened it, depositing his fingers into it before returning to rub at them with the cloth.

"By the gods! What is that stench!" hissed Loki as he yanked his hand from her grip, his nose wrinkled as he tried to thrust his offending appendage away from him.

Rolling her eyes and grabbing his hand back to make sure all of the paint was gone Tyne finally answered him.

"That was just some turpentine to get rid of the paint. Its oil paint by the way, very hard to get out of clothing so don't go touching it again!"

Loki scowled over at the offending palette of colors, "And you…paint with these?"

"Duh, I don't eat them."

Miffed by her reply he leaned in closer to some of the pictures. Yes he was aware that mortals took up such activities that they called the Arts, but the only art that Asgard had every truly played into was weapon making, ballad singing, and the occasional sculptor. Painting didn't have much of a place when the faces one saw from day to day hardly aged in millennia.

"You are…talented," he attempted the slight comment to be rather mundane, no way would he actually be in awe of her or anything.

"Thanks."

In her mad rush over to him she'd knocked over a stack of books and a few blank canvases and was now busing herself by rearranging them. Loki took this time to reassess the mortal; talented she was, of quick wit and of this painting. At first glance she merely looked like some curly haired girl barely yet a woman.

"You paint for money?" he asked breaking the tight silence.

Peering back over her shoulder Tyne regarded him curiously. "Yeah I do. I'm pretty lucky to get hired nowadays."

"Why?"

Sighing and lifting a heavy book over onto an overrun bookshelf she tossed back her hair and straightened her baggy shirt. "Well the economy is bad, people are more concerned with finding enough to make it through then buying a painting of their dog. I'm actually viewed as a pretty stupid person for pursuing art to a lot of people."

Loki thought that over for some time as he studied a small canvas with a glass bottle and a silver spoon upon it. Being royalty meant he hardly wanted for anything, fluxes in the economy meant nothing to him.

'_A peculiar world this girl lives in.'_

"So…what do you do? Or what did you do?" she asked, she turned her face away from him so he couldn't see the flush on her cheeks as well.

"I am a prince. I do whatever I please," he informed her, "however my specialty lies in magic and illusions."

She callously studied his face for a moment, her hazel eyes trained on his features as if he were a thick hand woven tapestry she were weaving with care.

"You're not lying." It was a statement, not a question any longer.

"Not this time," he said and flashed her a devilish smile, "But I am called the God of Mischief for a reason."

The mortal merely shook her head and rolled her eyes, giving him a brief smile she turned off the lights that framed the in progress work. Folding her hands over her chest she gave him a tired smirk.

"Time for bed Prince, I promise there won't be any more drawing tonight."

"There had better not be," he teased as he meandered his way to the doorway, "Or you _will_ regret it."

Giving a small laugh she looked over her left shoulder at him, surrounded by her work she finally seemed to fit in with her surroundings. Her slender fingers and quick eyes were necessary for the work she did, and the mass of curls merely added to her character, as did her round rump that he could easily imagine poised on the stool before the canvas.

"Goodnight Loki," she whispered to him as she turned off the last of her lights. He stood in the doorframe leaning out over the threshold, transfixed on that spot by her voice, it sounded almost…sultry.

"Goodnight." The reply was curt and to the point, this time he would let her get away with calling him his name without formality, even though she was a simple mortal. Shaking his head of any stray thoughts he lumbered back into his small blue room.

-0-0-0-

Review if you please it will help the next chapter come quicker.


	3. Chapter 3 The God's Boots

Chapter 3

Here's chapter 3, sorry for the delay, I moved back east for college and haven't had time until now.

MidnightGypsie: I'm so very happy that you enjoy Tyne, I really wanted a character that would be able to connect with the audience and form a sort of realism. And…I have a guilty pleasure of re-using lines from the movies, so yes, I did that on purpose.

ElektraMackenzie: Perhaps Loki will discover the wonders of youtube…or even tumblr.

Marvel respectfully owns their characters, I own mine.

This prose is rated M for language, sex, drinking and all that other good stuff.

-0-0-0-

Staring down at her soggy cereal Tyne moaned as her other hand tried helplessly to grab at the cup of coffee to her right. She had been up for the last two days, sleeping only when she passed out on her way to the easel, at last she had finished the mayor's portrait.

Across from her the prince of Asgard sat looking just as forlorn at his toast and eggs. The house was empty save for the two silent breakfast-goers.

"I'm…gonna go to bed," mumbled Ty as she staggered to her feet, dumping the half eaten cereal in the sink and leaving the coffee abandoned to cool in the early morning sun.

Loki's quick green eyes followed the woman's figure out of the room and heard her sluggish steps on the stairs and the closing of her bedroom door.

Left to himself he stared down at the fluffy eggs and crispy toast, his thoughts beginning to wander. He had now spent an entire week in the care of the humans, and still, try as he might none of him magic returned to him.

'_Has the Allfather taken it from me?' _he mused as he twirled his fork between his fingers. With a swift quick motion of the wrist he sunk it's prongs into the old wood of the floor with inhuman speed. _'No, I still have my strength, if depleted.'_

Yet something felt wrong, his wounds had nearly all closed, his ribs still bruised, pained him but each day he grew stronger. How long it would take him to grow out of the human shell that had appeared around him was still a mystery.

And deep below the surface of his emerald green eyes hatred still bubbled like a deep tar pit, thick and toxic. He loathed the world he was trapped on, the house he was within, the food that was before him.

'_I am a Prince, if not a King!'_

However, his anger did nothing. There was no explosion of fire and sparks, no tortured screams of agony, just the sound of a settling house in a breeze and the sound of crows flying over the wheat fields. Here in this spot of peace he was at war.

Standing stiffly he bottled his rage and jealousy and began the trek back up the stairs to his allotted room and lavatory. If nothing else he would be clean.

-0-0-0-

Tyne awoke from the dead four hours later, feeling quite like death and smelling like old coffee and oil. It was close to noon and she had to run errands and be home by three no later. Lumbering to the shower she snagged a look into the room her guest shared.

Loki sat cross-legged on his neatly made bed, head bent and fingers entwined.

'_Is he meditating?'_ she questioned to herself, _'Or sleeping…'_

"What do you want?" came the quick reply from the Asgardian, startling Tyne enough to drop her socks and underwear. With a muttered curse she picked up the grey lacy fabric and shoved it deep within her other clothing, face red.

"Um, I'm going out here after I shower, wanna go with?" she asked, shifting her weight, suddenly realizing she was in a pair of large white socks, her button down denim painting shirt that reached her mid thigh and a pair of bright yellow panties she prayed he couldn't see.

"No."

"You've been in this tiny room for a week, some fresh air will do you good!"

He hadn't moved from his spot on the bed, in fact not a hair on his head moved as he spoke, "If I require air, I will simply open a window."

"That one's painted shut though," she replied.

Finally his immense concentration had broken, shattered to tiny bits by the high whiny voice of the insufferable mortal woman who had brought him here. _'By Valhalla…'_

"If you stop your unbearable whining I will go, agreed?" he snapped, his taut form slowly relaxing itself into a more lithe pose.

A smile, be it small, lit up the girl's face, her curls fuzzy from sleep seemed to come to life with her small joy. It made him _sick_ just _watching_ her.

"Cool, I'll even buy you lunch."

And with that she disappeared into the little bathroom that they shared. Sighing Loki leaned back against the cool blue wall and gave a low deep rumbling growl. He had been trying to rouse some sort of magic up by deep therapeutic meditation, going deep into himself. Instead the events of merely a week ago flashed in his mind, bringing with them the deep revulsion, guilt, jealousy, and fear.

She had spoke to him just as he was about to strike out at the specters in his mind. Her small timid voice had broken him from the phantoms that whispered their lies to him in his mind.

He was unsure if he should have thanked her or lashed out.

Taking a deep breath he stood before the old mirror above the dresser. He was wearing a dark maroon shirt, borrowed of course and a pair of flannel mustard and red plaid sweatpants. The color was horrifying but the comfort was unmistakably astonishing.

Both were things he wouldn't have been caught dead wearing in Asgard, but then again he wasn't in Asgard now was he?

The pants would have to go, and he searched around for the dark thick pants they had lent him, they seemed a bit short, but they would have to do.

Staring at himself after changing he smoothed his hair back away from his face, but seeing as though he had no such pomade or other styling ingredients the dark locks fell forward loose around his cheekbones.

Of all the times that his family could come looking for him, he prayed it wasn't today.

Now he was ready to go and the water in the small bathroom had just kicked on, thus it would be a good half hour before the woman would emerge again. Not enough time to meditate but just enough to pressure him into becoming even crankier.

Passing by his door he noticed that she had left hers ajar. Stopping at the threshold he peered over at her door, the old familiar feeling of the joy of mischief taking over him.

Quiet as a mouse he stole over to her room, easing open the door with his foot. Stiffly, for his ribs still ached he padded softly into the room. It looked the same as it had the other day when he had first entered, perhaps a bit more cluttered, but non-the-less the same. This time however he watched carefully for wet paint.

As far as this mortal went he wasn't overly interested in her, she lived with her older sister, enjoyed a human art form, and terrible music. What more was there to her?

Opening the drawer to an old desk he moved the things inside with one long lean finger, careful not to disturb anything too drastically. Not finding anything interesting he moved on to another.

This one proved more interesting, a small black leather book bound by a tight string lay almost alone in the drawer. Snatching it up Loki quickly opened it anticipating the writings of a hormonal teenager girl to start spilling out of it. He'd read Sif's journal when they were younger, much to her irritation. _'At last mortal I will have the last laugh.'_

Instead a variety of recites and other papers fell from the binding. Giving a snort of distress he quickly picked back up the papers and deposited them back inside. Smooth slanted handwriting adorned the pages, calculations and small drawings as well.

'_A record book, not a journal.'_

Placing the book back where he found it his eyes flickered about the room quickly, trying to find something else of interest when they alighted on a small vase high on a shelf. It was on one of the farthest walls, the reason why he had never seen it before. Beside it was a photograph of a small curly haired child and an older woman with grey hair tied into a long braid.

He moved closer to observe, it was obviously the girl when she was younger, and even then she had massively curly hair despite the shade being lighter. The woman and her were both covered in dirt, or was it clay? He wasn't quite sure, smiles lit up their faces and sunlight brightened the edges of their hair.

Picking up the picture delicately between his fingers he turned it around. On the back in faded ink was written _'June 16__th__ Tyne and Donna'_

'_Her and her mother?'_ he thought to himself. A feeling of nostalgia washed over him, a child and it's mother…

Of all the people he had left behind, his mother was whom he missed the most. She of all had felt sympathy at the lies they had fed him as a child. Swallowing thickly Loki placed the image back on the shelf next to the faded red and brown vase, inside it was a dried carnation that had once been bright but now had faded with age.

At the moment Loki felt very akin to the dead flower, broken, helpless and forgotten on a high shelf. No one in Asgard was going to come for him while he was left powerless and weak. He was stuck on earth, alone. They probably assume it would do him some good, he could almost hear his oaf of a brother saying it. How the mortal world had educated him.

Breaking him from his thoughts the water promptly turned off in the bathroom. He was taken back at the amount of time that had passed while he was caught in his thoughts. Moving as stealthily as his body allowed he exited the room, his reflections churning heavily in his mind as he meandered down the stairs.

'_Will they come looking for me?'_ he thought_, 'or do they feast to my death, surely Valhalla knows that I have not graced their halls. That I do live on.'_

Put that world seemed so far away as he gazed out of the kitchen window and out at the vast and swaying wheat fields. His hands clenched onto the cool countertop, the smell of food brushing his nose.

'_My home…what was once my home…is very far from here.'_

Would he return home? Would he even _want_ to? Perhaps to conquer it and prove once and for all the fate his family had brought on themselves by denying him the truth. The thought lit a fire deep inside of him, a cruel grin moved onto his features.

'_Yes, I shall return Asgard, and not for any reason you will be fond of.'_

"You ready to head out?"

Once more her voice broke him from the cruel and wicked thoughts that seeped into his mind. His smile fell as he turned to her, his green eyes sweeping over the smaller being.

He could smell the soap on her skin and hair, and the warmth the water had left imprinted on her. Even her hair hung with the weight and appeared darker, cheeks were flushed and skin plump with balminess.

He seemed quite contrasted to her, he was tall and thin with broad shoulders and hair like raven's feathers. She was short and curvy, with broad hips and a mass of curly unruly blonde hair. And yet when he peered into her eyes…something didn't match up.

He looked good. _'Really good,'_ thought Tyne as she glanced over at him, happy he had finally relinquished Sam's sweatpants in lieu of jeans for their outing. However as she skimmed his pants her eyes fell to his bare feet.

"Looks like we're going to need to stop and get you some clothes huh?"

"I assume you came up with that all by yourself?" he said smartly in return. In the last week she'd gotten quite used to his constant snapping, truly it wasn't much worst that Marge's when she really thought about it.

"You're going to need shoes too," she said while rooting through her purse, checking her money.

"I have my boots," he announced.

"It's summertime, and you'll look weird wearing leather boots in the middle of June. I'll get you some sandals or something," responded Tyne as she counted through her change. She had about fifty on her, and if she was smart she could make it stretch. Her hazel eyes flicked up to his as he stood with his hands crossed over his chest, blankly staring at her.

"What is that flimsy paper?" he asked suddenly.

"Oh this?" she said startled, "It's money."

He snorted and muttered something about primitive humans or the like. Rolling her eyes she grabbed her keys off of the counter. "Well go get your boots, you need something to put on your feet until I can get something else."

He appeared peeved, well he _always_ did, more so when she told him to do something. This had become a sort of cheap entertainment as of late, as Tyne found him exotically sexy when he was angry. Stomping back up the stairs she caught a glimpse of his rear, tight in the borrowed pants; quickly she averted her attention to his bare feet.

'_He's got big feet…'_ she mused, _'You know what they say about guy's with big feet…'_

Flushing a deep red she ran a hand back through her hair staring lividly at her reflection in the kitchen window. _'He's a freaking ALIEN Tyne! What are you THINKING?'_

The evidence was irrefutable that he was not of this world, and not just in the looks department. He spoke funny, ate funny, and hated everything he deemed 'mortal' which was just about everything he came in contact with. Plus the whole falling from the sky, that was a sort of a big bright neon sign that read "HE BE ALIEN."

'_Asgardian,_' he had said once, _'So in reality he wasn't an alien he was…'_

A god.

Loki God of Mischief.

Tyne's reflection was starting to look a bit bug eyed the more she thought about it. Until a few evenings ago she'd just let it go, pushed it from her mind. But with the sudden realization that he had nothing, no money, no phone, no I.D. that he was completely alone made the truth a bit hard to swallow.

'_Does he even realize what's happened to him?'_

"Am I presentable for travel now?" he said with a sneer as he hit the last stair. Tyne quickly turned to him, noticing the flash of pain as he took the last step, his ribs still hurt him, even though he refused to admit it.

"Yeah," was all she could manage with all the thoughts swirling through her brain. Leading the way out to her car she tried to clear her mind so she could drive safely. However having a complete and utterly gorgeous Viking god following hardly helped.

As Loki closed the door to the metal contraption and buckled the strapping device a deep dark stone of anxiety sunk into his gut. His knees almost brushed the dash and the smell inside was strange and foreign.

As the engine roared to life he clutched franticly to the handles provided to him inside of the vehicle. A laugh came from the driver, to which he answered with an ice glare.

"Relax, I'm not trying to kill us," she said with nonchalance as she pulled out onto a paved road, her tires squealing.

"I cannot decide what is _worst_, your complete _lack_ of caare for _life_ or this insane combination of metal that your kind deems _safe_ to _contain_ life!" he growled as she hit the accelerator and zoomed off between long golden fields.

"Oh stop getting your panties in a twist," she said looking over at him and flashing him a smile, "I'm a great driver!"

"_FOCUS_ ON THE _ROAD_ _WOMAN_!" shouted Loki as an oncoming SUV flew past them. They weren't in any immediate danger, but he didn't know that.

Tyne found the entire situation hilarious, Viking god maybe, but he sure had a problem with cars. She continued to laugh at every outburst he had the entire way into Milltown, the closest town to where she lived. By the time they arrived he had completely given up on trying to comment on her lack of driving skills and concentrated his gaze out his window, pretending doom wasn't waiting for him in the form of a small red sports car.

First stop was the bank to cash Tyne's latest check, next was the courthouse to drop of the painting of the mayor, Loki actual exited the car for that one.

"So this is where your government is held," he said aloud after they had finished talking to the people who worked there.

"Well just the local, you have to go pretty far east to find the President," responded Tyne.

Loki was silent on the way to the 'strip mall' the place where she explained clothing could be bought. The whole concept seemed strange, in Asgard if there was need of new clothing a tailor was called to his chambers at his leisure. There was no need to travel away for such a thing as clothing.

When they pulled up he was astounded at the amount of people there, sure Asgard was large and mighty, but other than Thor's failed coronation had he ever seen so many cars and people.

"Children…" muttered Loki in a quiet awe of the place. Tyne gave him a puzzled look to which he retorted, "Asgard has few children."

Tyne swallowed thickly as they entered the first store, immediately the woman behind the counter stared at him, her eyes wide. So did the middle-aged mother carrying a child on her hip.

'_He's going to get so much attention, and he doesn't have a clue…'_

Loki quickly took it upon himself to direct them to the men's section, Tyne allowed herself to patter behind him, trying to keep up with his long strides. His quick emerald eyes of course noticed her struggle and he smirked.

"Having a hard time keeping up?"

"Oh shut up," snapped Tyne, "Or I'll drive home on the left side of the road."

Snorting at her response he began sorting through the clothing provided. Tyne seemed content to let him wander so he took it upon himself to decide on clothing, not that he would have _let_ her dress him. She followed behind him silently as he touched and prodded the fabrics around him.

"What do these numbers mean?" he asked as he shuffled through the stacks of pants. Tyne came up beside him, brushing her elbow with his as she did and peered at the pair in his hands.

"It's sizes, you can figure out what size you are by matching numbers," she clarified, "Here let me look at the size you have on…"

Loki spun on his heel as she touched his lower back, "What in the world are you doing?"

"The tag is in the back seam," said Tyne, her cheeks flushing at his outburst.

Rolling his eyes he let her look and once the number of his size was determined he was able to quickly find a few pair he deemed 'acceptable' and they proceeded to the shirt side where he quickly picked out four tops, all of either black or green.

"Don't you wear any color but black and green?" commented Tyne dryly as she held out the fitted green T before her before slinging it over her arm like the rest of his clothes.

"They are my colors," remarked Loki as he weaved his way through the clothing racks, all he had done since they entered the store was push her buttons. A due revenge for trapping him inside of her car, plus he enjoyed seeing her prance along behind him like a duckling did to it's mother.

"Oh so when you become a prince you get to pick your colors," said Tyne as she rolled her eyes at his choice of another black shirt.

Loki stopped so suddenly she smacked off of his back, stumbling backwards she caught herself before she fell into a mannequin. Loki turned to look back at her, his eyes lost all of the mirth they had once held and were now like polished stones.

"Only when that prince isn't the heir," was his curt reply.

-0-0-0-

His mood spoiled; Tyne prayed that it'd clear up once she fed him. Every mention of his family he drew back into himself and got even crabbier than before. Pulling up to the small restaurant he shot her a look as she slumped back in her seat.

"You like sandwiches?" she drawled.

"It doesn't appear like I have much of a choice."

Tyne's eye twitched and her jaw set together with an audible click. With speed he hadn't realized she had she grabbed ahold of his chin and steered his face to hers with a quick flick.

"_Look here mister_, I've been spending my _time_, my _money_, and my _patience_ with _you_ got it? I'm _not_ doing this because I _have_ to, it's because I _want_ to. Your _attitude_ isn't making me too cheery; _I don't give a flying fuck_ what happened to you on _Pluto_ or _whatever the hell _it's called. You're on _Earth_ now, _get with it_, be a little _appreciative_ you _pompous ass_."

Her hazel eyes narrowed to slits she squeezed at his jaw, _"Got it?"_

He blinked and she let go of him, still staring him down.

He opened his mouth but no sound came out despite his trying. This seemed to please her because she then exited the vehicle and slammed the door in his astounded face.

'_Pompous ass…'_ he thought flabbergasted, _'no one has ever dared call me…'_

Scratch that Sif had once.

Once.

And then he'd cut all of her hair off.

Point being that no _mortal human_ had ever called him such a thing, let alone to his face. Who was she to say such things? To him? Loki! The Fallen Prince of Asgard!

Scrambling out of the car his breathing accelerated as his rage mounted. Slamming the door he stormed in after her into the restaurant disturbing a few people with his snorting and snarling. Finally his eyes rested on her form sitting at a booth in the back.

His rage was boiling in his blood, his hands like claws ready to rip at her, tear her to shreds for the words she had uttered. Yet as he came up to the booth and saw that not only was there a glass of water sitting there before her, but one across the booth from her as well and all at once his rage stopped.

'_One for…'_

The wind fell from his sails as he partook of the small plastic glass filled with water. A lemon had been skewered on the edge of it and the outside glistened with sweat as the chill of the ice touched the warmth of the air.

Then and there he felt like the ice cube floating suspended in the water cold and resentful but as his chill touched the warmth it turned into harmless droplets that dribbled down his exterior to the floor. And that warmth he impacted with was she.

A simple, irrelevant, pathetic human being.

A pair of hazel eyes peered over the menu at him, childlike and simple. Not the eyes that had punched him in the throat mere moments ago.

Clearing his throat he looked down at his hands, he'd unclenched them and small crescents of red painted his palms. Shame washed over him at his anger.

'_She was right.'_ As much as his ego whimpered at the truth he couldn't run from he forced himself to own up to it. He didn't have much choice.

"I…I am sorry," he whispered, "I have been…very ungrateful."

Slowly Tyne folded her menu and placed it on the table before her. Her hazel eyes watching him watching her.

"Oh come on and sit down, I'm sorry I snapped like I did. I normally don't do that its just shopping malls make me feel weird and antsy," she said and waved a hand through the air like nothing had trespassed between them but a few sour words.

Cautiously Loki sat down across from her, now that she mentioned it her behavior had changed quite a bit since they had left the place of government. He glanced around at the people also seated around them. None of them seemed to pay the two any mind.

"Why?" he asked, trying to make some sort of neutral conversation.

Tyne flicked the menu closed and readjusted herself in the booth, curling one leg beneath her. "I don't like being around people."

"You seem to enjoy painting them," mused Loki aloud as he looked over the human cuisine.

The mortal then puckered up her face in what he assumed was a thoughtful expression, it was hard to tell with her, every expression seemed exaggerated.

"I don't have to talk to them if they're just paintings."

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